


Truth Be Told I Miss You

by CaptainAwesome242



Series: Truth Be Told [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV John Watson, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAwesome242/pseuds/CaptainAwesome242
Summary: John's reflections after Sherlock has gone





	Truth Be Told I Miss You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Gives You Hell' by The All-American Rejects

John missed him the most.

Although to be fair he was one of the only ones who _didn’t_ know that Sherlock was still alive. Even so, of those who didn’t know, John was the most torn apart by his flatmate’s untimely ‘death’.

Death is not a foreign concept to the retired army doctor. Quite the opposite in fact, but this only makes Sherlock’s death harder to come to terms with - he can tell you in excruciating detail exactly how Sherlock’s body would have been damaged by a fall like that. He knows the bones to be broken, the amount of blood lost, the damage his internal organs would have taken.

Sherlock would not have liked his funeral, John knows this. The ridiculous number of flowers, everyone wearing black, the hymns about a god he didn’t believe in and sappy, lovey poems. Through all of the condolences and well wishes spoken at him all he could do was nod, or stare blankly ahead; these were just empty words when all he wanted was his friend back. The only people he would have opened his mouth for would have been Sherlock’s parents, to tell them what an amazing man their son had been; the best friend a man could ask for; and that no one had ever had such an impact on his life before… but they never showed.

John couldn’t bear to stay at 221B; the place was so quintessentially Sherlock that even the parts of John that were there had traces of Sherlock – John had his own chair, but it had the perfect view of Sherlock’s empty one; John’s shelf in the fridge had a jar of pickling fingers on it because his shelf was the “optimum height” in the fridge for the experiment. Even John’s room, though it was the part of the flat least touched by Sherlock, had memories of his best friend; Sherlock crashing in in the wee hours to excitedly tell John about the success of an experiment, or to conduct experiments on John’s sleeping patterns and reaction rates from unconsciousness. John mentally cursed all of the times he’d wished his friend away in lieu of a clear night’s sleep – he’d gotten his wish now, Sherlock would never interrupt his sleep again. Well, at least not in person. Thoughts of Sherlock kept John awake late into the night, and sleep only brought the image of the fall in an infinite loop.

He moved across London. He didn’t want to bump into his friends in the street. He didn’t feel much like talking to anyone and even his friends, for the most part, had been made through Sherlock. Christ, was there any part of his life that the sociopath _hadn’t_ touched!? A fresh start was what was in order. A new home, a new job, new people.

But as hard as he might try, John could not shake the memory of Sherlock. Everywhere he looked he saw his best friend – a tall man with dark hair; a man in a long coat; a violinist. John hadn’t realised how many of Sherlock’s ticks and mannerisms he’d noticed until he saw them everywhere too – steepled fingers, fingers running through hair, dammit the man was everywhere! Although he never stopped seeing Sherlock everywhere over his two-year absence he certainly grew acclimatised to it, which is why he didn’t even react when his waiter looked an awful lot like Sherlock – all of his waiters looked like Sherlock.


End file.
